


Five times Rafe tried to get Sam to shut up and the one time he actually succeeded

by Klayr_de_Gall



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Rafe Adler Lives, So does Sam, and bad at feelings, grown-up men being idiots, he also deserves a kick in the face, he deserves that, nongraphic handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25868302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klayr_de_Gall/pseuds/Klayr_de_Gall
Summary: For the fifteen years they had known each other, Rafe has never succeeded in shutting Sam up. But not for a lack of trying.
Relationships: Rafe Adler/Samuel Drake
Comments: 5
Kudos: 59





	Five times Rafe tried to get Sam to shut up and the one time he actually succeeded

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing these two and writing for Uncharted in general.
> 
> Playing Uncharted 4 made me fall in love with Sam, then with the whole Series. Taking a liking to this ship did come a bit later, but Rafe is just a too interesting character to not explore!
> 
> Beta by the most amazing [Ihni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihni/pseuds/Ihni)! <3
> 
> Feedback is most appreciated!

1

Sam had done his research before meeting with that new potential investor - of course. Not that there was much information to find about the heir of the Adler family. Hardly any newspaper coverage, no insight from any of their contacts. He was a blank slate in the treasure hunter community. All he knew was that Adler Senior had made a fortune by investing in other people's missteps, and had seemingly forgotten to take his credit card away from his son.

While Nate had been somewhat anxious about the whole deal, Sam felt more curious. And between the two of them, he was calling the shots, flaunting his “older brother card” often enough for Nate not to forget it. Not that it mattered, his baby brother trusted him and his instincts unconditionally, so where Sam led, Nathan would follow.

And that means walking into a high-end restaurant in New York on a warm Friday evening, both of them in suits that are as rented as they are unfitting. Sam resists the urge to fiddle with his tie again - already a bit wrinkled from playing with it in the cab. Nate has taken up twisting his cufflinks in an effort to distract himself and Sam elbows his brother in the side. They must show no signs of weakness in a room full of sharks. They have to come off as confident and professional if they want to score that deal.

Sam would like to brag that he recognizes Rafael Adler immediately, but in a room full of high-end snobs, all reeking of money and privilege, everyone looks exactly the same. Gray and boring, too much money and a laugh so fake it hurts. Sam plastered on a smile as fake as theirs. His eyes swept right over everyone. No one or nothing stood out to him, if he wouldn't count the jewelry that made his fingers itch for an easy lift.

"Mr. Adler is waiting for you." 

A guy in a penguin suit had quietly sneaked up on them, nearly making Sam jump. But he has more control over himself than that, barely flexes his shoulders. Only the little grin Nate throws his way tells him his slip-up has not gone unnoticed. An eye roll is Sam's only reply.

"How does he know we are the right men?" Nate mumbles, basically glued to his older brother's shoulder, while they follow the mâitre to a corner table.

"Probably the cheap suits."

Before Sam can say more, they come to a halt in front of a - _kid_ \- young man, currently rising from his seat. He is wearing a three-piece suit that most likely cost more than the apartment Sam and Nate are currently living in, and the way he holds himself all straight and tense disguises the fact that he must be barely legal - if he is at all.

"Raphael Adler?"

Fire flashes in the young man’s gray-blue eyes and it feels like a blow to Sam's guts. How could he have thought every person in this room was boring?

"Rafe."

It's the only introduction they get. The words paired with a little smile - more of a snarl - that promises trouble, and a look that demands silence. Demands that everyone shut the fuck up.

So clearly, Sam starts talking without missing a beat.

~~*~~

2

Getting one person into a Panamanian jail would have been easy enough. Just start a fight with the wrong person, or fuck over someone important. Sam had done that often enough, being put behind bars for stupid shit like that more than once.

Getting two people into a Panamanian jail would have been harder but not impossible. Bribe the police a bit, or maybe get caught robbing a bank.

Turns out, getting three people into a Panamanian jail is a piece of cake. It’s just hella expensive. Not that money is any concern for their own personal trust fund kid. Rafe had insisted to come with them, more than willing to spend whatever coin it would take. And Sam had accepted with no little amount of glee, ready to teach Adler a lesson, expecting him to whine over every stale meal and broken nail.

Little did he expect Rafe Adler to be willing to use his nails to claw through anything if needed, even if that was Sam’s own shoulder.

"Fuck! Would you stop - hey!"

He has Rafe pressed up against a wall in a dark corner of the laundry room, the noises outside on the courtyard a constant rumbling, a reminder of where they are, that this is no place to fool around. Not that Sam has ever been known for having healthy common sense. And that's why, while Nathan is outside striking up whatever trouble he finds interesting , Sam is back here with his hand down their insufferable employer‘s pants, earning himself some scratch marks for his troubles.

"Leave some skin intact, will you?"

Rafe just laughs in that mean way of his. He presses the little gasp escaping his lips against Sam's throat, teeth grazing the stubbled skin, while Sam finds a better angle for his hand, confined in tight fabric.

"Hmm- Fuck. Sam."

Sam fully expects to get bitten next, by now knowing the twisted ways his little trust fund brat shows his affection, but they get interrupted by some rustling behind them. The way Rafe's eyes flash with anger tells Sam that they are no longer alone in the room.

The other prisoner that had stumbled in - a sweaty man in his forties - eyes them with interest and Sam can't help to slide fully in front of Rafe, shielding him from prying eyes with his larger frame. That earns him a scoff and an eye roll, but if he notices the short, subtle smile flashing over Rafe's lips, that's between the two of them.

" _Share ya little girl when ya done, will ya?_ ", the newcomer drawls in thick Spanish, stepping closer. 

" _Get lost, Amigo._ " 

Sam’s own Spanish isn't flawless, but it gets the job done.

" _You are dead if you lay a hand on him._ "  
They have been around the prison for nearly a month now, not enough time to carve out a spot for themselves, but long enough to earn some respect and for him to introduce people to his fists a couple of times, so Sam’s treat doesn't fall on deaf ears. Or maybe it's his tense stance or the way his eyes promises murder.

" _Just some good fun, amigo, eh?"_ not one to give up easily in his hornieness, the prisoner tries again.

" _„Fuck off before I make you_ “, Sam growls. „ _He is mine.“_ "

He drags Rafe closer to himself with a possessive arm around his middle, causing him to wind one arm around Sam's shoulder. Rafe gets pressed harder against the wall, gets his breath knocked out of him. This seems to push the message across because the stranger huffs and puffs and shuffles off to find his amusement elsewhere.

"What an ass.", Sam mutters. 

He can only shake his head in disbelief but stills when he feels two sharp eyes on himself. All of a sudden he becomes aware that he is still holding Rafe up against the wall with more strenght than necessary. The younger man's eyes are dark - with anger or something else, Sam does not know.

"What did you just say?" Rafe's voice seems to drop a note.

Because he is a brat at heart , Sam can't stop himself from playing dumb. "That he is an ass?"

"Sam."

"That he should fuck off?"

" _Sam_."

While Rafe‘s face gets more and more annoyed, Sam can’t help letting his grin widen.

"You mean, that you are mine?" he all but purrs, earning himself another flash from expressive eyes.

"Shut up, Drake."

If Rafe is trying to mask the effect the words have on him, he is doing a very bad job, with his pupils all blown and his breath coming faster.

"Face it, Adler. You are mine – ow!"

Sam can only laugh while sharp nails dig into his shoulders again, the sting enough to tell him that Rafe’s claws did draw blood this time. But it's not enough to shut Sam up and he makes sure to whisper the words again and again while the light of the sunset creeps in through the windows , bathing them in warm shadows 

~~*~~

3

So, Thirteen years in prison really _do_ change some things. Not that Sam should be surprised. Nothing seems the same after finally getting out, finally leaving that hellhole behind.

Maybe he is the best example himself if the imploring curious looks he gets are anything to go by. Sam himself feels stuck in time. Has felt stuck in time for the last decade or so. His days are filled with endless routines. His nights are filled with dreams about his lost brother, a treasure way greater then he can grasp, and blazing blue-grey eyes.

The same eyes that are staring at him now, across an old wooden table overspilling with ancient journals and maps, one elegant brow raised in question. A gesture that tells Sam that he had spaced out, that it was getting way too late.

“Sorry, you were saying?”

“Glad you decide to join in, Samuel.”, Rafe snarks at him. It’s always “ _Samuel_ ” now, never “ _Sam_.” Sam had considered calling him “ _Raphael_ ” in return, but to be fair, he actually likes his new life and wants to be able to enjoy his newfound freedom for a while longer.

“It’s late, Rafe. We should call it a night.” Even knowing what the answer will be, Sam tries anyway, earning himself an impressively pissed-off glare.

The effect of it is ruined by the tired look on Rafe’s face, enhanced by the dark shadows pooling under his gray eyes. Sam has to wonder when the last time was that the younger man had a good night's sleep. Probably a long time ago. Certainly not in the past two months they have spent together.

“Don’t be stupid, Drake.”

This has been another thing that has changed. Back when they met, when they set out on their stupid adventure to Panama, Rafe had been filled with a passionate fire, a hunger for excitement and treasure. Now he is fueled by simmering anger, ready to explode at any minute. The need to finally prove himself - after failing and failing and then failing again for years – is so deeply rooted in Rafe that he bristles at the mere suggestion of getting some rest.

A lot has changed in the last thirteen years, but not the way Rafe makes that aggressive zipping motion with his hand. A clear, impatient command for Sam to stop with his nonsensical act of caring and shut up.

Another thing that hasn’t changed, is Sam’s urge to do exactly the opposite of what he is told. So he just keeps talking on about the prospect of a soft bed, his crooked grin growing more, the more the younger man opposite him looks ready to jump over the table and strangle him.

~~*~~

4

“We have to go back. You have to look for him. He might be wounded – ow.”

One of the Shoreline goons kicks Sam in the back of his knees to move him along and he stumbles on the uneven path through Libertalia‘s crumbling streets, catching himself last minute against a rotten wall. His left arm hurts like a bitch, the blood seeping from the bullet wound, dripping down his fingers and onto the cobblestones beneath. Not that Sam registers it much, with how the last hour keeps replaying in his head over and over again.

\- The confusion on Nathan's face after finding out that his older brother had lied to him about his whole escape.

\- The hurt upon realizing Sam had been out for over two years, looking for Avery’s treasure alongside Rafe of all people.

\- Rafe finally snapping after Sam had tried and failed to defuse the situation, pushing all the wrong buttons.

\- The gun pointed between Nate’s eyes.

\- _“I only need Sam.”_

Of course, Sam had stepped in front of that bullet. Maybe he shouldn’t have, seeing how his stumbling after the impact had pushed Nathan over the cliff's edge, but if there was even the tiniest chance his brother was still alive, he had to find him. If Rafe would just listen-

“Rafe-”

Reaching out before any of the mercenaries currently escorting him can even react, Sam’s bloodied hand encircles Rafe’s wrist, the blood an unpleasant contrast against clammy, flushed skin.

The way the younger man comes to a sudden halt, shoulders nearly vibrating with how tense they are, has Sam’s instincts scream at him to let go _immediately_ \- but he never had been a man of good preservation skills. Rafe turns to him slowly, his eyes ablaze in the unmoving mask of his face.

“We have to go look for Nathan. He might still be alive,” Sam tries again.

“He better be, so I can shoot him for real this time.”

The ice in Rafe’s voice sends a shudder down Sam’s spine.

“Please. He is my little brother. I just want-”

With a hateful snarl, exposing way too many teeth, Rafe finally brushes Sam’s hand away, a bloody handprint remaining on his skin, all the way around his wrist like some bizarre bracelet.

“I couldn’t care less about what _you_ want, Samuel.”

Rafe had told him once that he would never trust anyone because everyone would turn around and stab him in the back eventually. And then he had gone against his own words and started to trust _Sam_ of all people! Honestly, Sam argued with himself, that whole betrayal thing was on Rafe himself.

The look of unmasked rage on Rafe’s face keys Sam in that he might have said that last part out loud. Jesus Christ.

“Rafe. Listen. I don’t mean that - I just-”

“Shut up, Drake.”

They have come to a halt in front of the guard tower - the same tower Sam had been excited about exploring together with Nate not two hours ago - the door already shouldered open by some of the heavily-armed men.

"Please let me go look for him. That's all I'm asking. I won't run, I promise - I'll come back. Just-"

"Shut up! Everything you say is lies! You lied to me!"

"I lied to Nathan too!"

Sam will admit later that he really deserves the punch to the face for that nonsensical statement. But he is in a panic, more afraid for his brother then he could ever be for his own life. 

Blood drips from his nose and smears over his lips as he speaks.

“Rafe, please. I need to look for him, he might still be alive, I can’t just leave him there -”

“He had no problem leaving you behind! It was me who got you out of that rotting prison! Me, who got you back in the game! We were a team - we were - I thought… fuck!”

Rafe’s voice cracks and Sam sees the dawning horror on Rafe’s face over being so vulnerable morph into anger in the blink of an eye. For a moment Sam is convinced that he will get shot.

But instead of pulling the trigger, Rafe collects himself with a strained, deep breath, straightening up. It looks painful.

"I'm done here. Lock him up somewhere and make sure he stays there", he commands one of the waiting mercenaries.

"Rafe! You can't do this! Please!"

"Just shut up, Samuel."

The look Rafe gives him is impossibly flat and tired and barely masks the hurt in his eyes. He leaves without another word.

Sam is pushed into the crumbling mansion, but he has no eyes for the beautiful architecture, for all the signs that this was truly the place a pirate legend once lived in. Instead, he screams himself hoarse with his demands to be left out.

The locked door never opens.

~~*~~

5

Being stuck under a crushingly heavy wooden pillar, and having a three hundred year old pirate ship going up in flames and falling apart around them while having to watch his brother fight for his life, was not an experience Sam ever had on his bucket list. Meanwhile Sam’s - what? Love of his life? He was definitely something important in his life, at the very least the cause of a lot of sleepless nights and headaches had tumbled over into absolute madness.

Rafe brandishes the rusty dagger with terrifying precision, his usual grace replaced by all-consuming rage. All Nate can do is meet him head-on, sparks flying from the blade of the weapons, whenever they clash violently.

The slightest mistake will cause injury, or worse. Sam's heart jumps when Nathan's sword gets too close, leaving an ugly, gaping cut across Rafe's stomach.

With renewed determination, Sam strains against the wood holding him in place. He tries to call out to the fighting men, but he's too out of breath to be heard over the yelling and the blazing fire.

He can only watch helplessly while they both collect cuts and bruises, Nathan tumbling to the floor, Rafe getting pressed up against blistering hot metal bars, both of them bleeding all over the floor. The wood above them creaks and groans, flames licking over the once probably very impressive paint job of ornaments and symbols.

Sam can only watch Nate look up, eyes landing on the big net filled with gold and other treasure, that’s barely hanging on over Rafe's head. The calculating look in his brother's eyes, desperately looking for another way out then the worst and not finding any. It’s easy to anticipate him raising the dagger like a throwing knife, easy to figure out that the bundled up gold will not miss its mark.

Nathan throws the dagger.

"RAFE! WATCH OUT!"

Without the barest hesitation, Rafe leaps backward, the tonnes of gold crashing down between Nathan and him, right on the spot where he had been standing a moment ago.

Rafe's eyes are impossibly bright in between the blood streaming over his face, gushing from a cut in his hairline. Back when they were digging around for nothing in Scotland, Sam had shouted this warming at him more than once, and Rafe had always, without fail, trusted him and jumped, dodged, rolled out of danger without doubting his words. As shocking as it is that there is still trust after all that has happened, Sam is thankful for it.

The disbelieving look Nate throws him barely masks his relief of not having killed another person in a senseless fight.

“Rafe. Please. I don’t want to kill you. Just help me get Sam out of here. You will never see us again, just stop with this - whatever this is. Help us. Help _him_.”

Following Nathan’s outstretched, pointing arm with his eyes, Rafe zeros in on Sam. Sam who is still stuck while the fire crawls closer, while the black smoke billowing over the wooden planks fills his lungs more and more.

There is still blood around Rafe’s wrist that isn’t his. He drops the dagger.

"Thank god, come on!" Nathan is at Sam's side in under a second, his eyes frantically searching for any form of solution to get his brother free.

Still seemingly stunned by his own decision to help, Rafe kneels alongside the younger Drake, examining the situation. Or acting like it. Sam knows this faraway glint in these eyes that have become a fixed point in his life, knows that the younger man is trying hard to keep his emotions in check. He grapples for a mask, any mask. The one of the CEO of a high profile firm slips in place.

“That doesn't change anything. The treasure is still mine.”

“Whatever, man. Do with it what you want, I just want to get Sam out of here. I can’t lose him again.” It's clear that Nathan doesn't even care anymore at this point, trying to get a good hold around the log that‘s too heavy for him to lift by himself.

The way Rafe goes tense all over, stunned into complete motionlessness, is not lost to Sam and he expects some change of heart, Rafe pulling a gun on them and shooting them both maybe, or just for him to turn around and walk away. What he doesn’t expect is the softly whispered “Me neither” that’s barely audible over the roaring of the fire.

If Nathan heard, he does a good job of not reacting to it, but Sam's eyes are glued to pale gray ones. His own heartbeat is thunderously loud in his ears.

"Rafe. You got it?"

Rafe shakes himself at Nathan's words, jams his fingers under the smoldering wood.

"Yeah. Yes, got it."

"On three?"

"Just lift that fucking thing, Drake."

So they lift.

Rafe struggles under the heavy weight straining his arms, the deep cut in his abdomen eating away at his strength. He falters and falls to one knee, nearly crushing Sam’s hand as he is searching for any form of handhold or leverage.

“Watch it when you faint, would you, dear?” It is meant as a joke but comes out strained. Sam can _feel_ the bones of his ribs being jostled under his skin when the weight is slowly but finally lifted away. Sam worms around, tries to lodge his shoulder under to help with it.

“Shut up - and put your back into it.” Rafe says, close to Sam’s ear, his unsteady breath ruffling his hair.

“That’s what he said.”

“Samuel - I swear to god - if you don’t keep - your mouth shut - I’ll shoot you.”

Rafe's voice is strained while he pushes against the wooden beam, mirroring Nate's efforts on Sam's other side. With a synchronized grunt, they manage the extra inch he needs to pull himself free and can finally crawl to safety, can finally breathe again.

Count on Sam to use his first good lungful of air to be a brat.

“That threat would be more impressive if your hands weren’t currently occupied."

The log barely misses his feet when Rafe lets go - making Nate stumble with an offended "Hey!" - already in Sam’s face and snarling. Anger seems to be a comfortable emotion in such an unpredictable environment. Sam stands his ground, welcoming the distraction to just not take stock of all the places his body hurts like it‘s been run over by a military truck.

“I warned you, Drake -”

“Adler.”

“Uh. Guys!”

Nate sounds nervous enough for them both to get pulled out of their little bubble, only now noticing that the very same beam that had held Sam down had crashed through the brittle wooden floor, seawater bubbling in with alarming speed.

“We better go before everything crashes. Can’t enjoy a pirate treasure if it kills you and buries you at the bottom of the ocean, eh?” The joke sounds strained even to Sam's own ears, but the fact that both Nate and Rafe roll their eyes at him feels like a small personal victory.

And with that, they are off running and diving and swimming out of danger while the cave comes down around them.

It's an impossibly close call.

~~*~~

+1

The soft purr of the plane engine is relaxing, the only noise filling the cabin while Libertalia steadily grows smaller in the distance. If not for Elena and Sully, they would have been stranded on the island, with the shoreline boats, and Nadine long gone. But Nate’s wife is a saint herself, apparently. Sam can not wait to get to know her better. A woman passionate enough to stick with a Drake would be a person to his liking, after all.

Sam’s eyes drift to Rafe, huddled away into the furthest corner of the cabin. The way he is pressing his arm over the cut on his stomach makes Sam fear his bowels might not stay where they belong. The image of Rafe walking around with a basket holding everything that was clearly not meant to be outside a human body is so hysteric, he has to lower his gaze to just breathe for a moment, unsure if he wants to laugh or scream.

“Hey.”

Elena’s shoes pop up in his line of sight between his knees, the blonde woman then sat down beside him on the small bench, holding a first aid kit.

“Hey yourself.”

Even tired as he is Sam’s charm seems to still work and it earns him a small smile.

“Do you need medical attention? Are you hurt in any way?”

“Other than my bruised ego? Honestly, yes. But nothing that won’t heal.” Sam’s eyes travel to Rafe once again, then back to the medical supplies. “Can I borrow that for a bit?”

Her smile is knowing but kind as she hands the box over and Sam couldn’t be more thankful for having such a kick-ass sister-in-law. Neither her nor Sully had been very trusting when Rafe had crawled to shore alongside both brothers, understandably, seeing how they had been at each others’ throats for the last few weeks. But a few explanations from Nate, paired with the sorry state Rafe had been in, had them both give in.

“Just be careful.”

Sam offers her a reassuring smile, for once in his life sure that he is not running headfirst into danger.

The only acknowledgment he gets when stepping up to the younger man is tired blue-gray eyes following him, wary but not afraid - never afraid.

“Let me have a look at your cuts. Don’t want you to bleed out after living through all this.”

Maybe his charm isn’t as much in working order as he thought, or Rafe is in more pain then he thought, because he only drops his arm away, allowing Sam to kneel between his legs to get a better look at the damage. The cut is nasty but not as deep as Sam had feared. It still looks like it)stings like a bitch when he cleans it if the fingers clawing at his shoulder are any indication.

After the bandage is secured in place, Sam stays where he is, looking up into the stormy eyes that hadn’t stopped watching him while he worked. The atmosphere that spreads between them feels heavy and tense and he can’t remain silent for long.

“Rafe… I’m sorry. I should never have left. I knew it would hurt you but I still did and I - I just -”

“Shut up, Sam.”

The chapped lips softly covering his own in a soft kiss finally shuts Sam up. He has no complaints about that, feeling like time finally started ticking again after being halted for fifteen years.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed what my brain came up with!
> 
> Come say Hi on [Tumblr](https://klayr-de-gall.tumblr.com/tagged/uncharted)! <3\. I draw Uncharted sometimes.


End file.
